Battleground
by TreacleTart301
Summary: It's been two months, but you can't seem to wash her scent from your skin.
_Trigger Warning: This story deals with the subject of sexual assault. While there are no graphic depictions of the attack, it does delve into the emotional trauma one suffers afterward. If this is something that is upsetting to you, please do not read any farther._

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It's been two months, but you can't seem to wash her scent from your skin. Nightly, you stand under scalding water, hoping that if you can only get it a little hotter that you might be able to burn the memory of her from your flesh. You buy expensive soaps and scrub until your skin is raw, but what she's done to you is nothing that any amount of lathering can fix.

She broke you in a way that you aren't sure you know how to recover from.

At night, you wake in cold sweats, feeling the phantom of her touch on your skin. Panic swells up inside of you, commanding you to run. You're ready to fight your way from her clutches when you realize you are alone. Sheets tangle and twist with your limbs, but the space in the bed beside you is mercifully empty. The realization that you've escaped sets in for the hundredth time and your breath steadies.

In the daylight, you cloister yourself in the shadows of your home, avoiding the searching eyes of your family and the judgment of the town's folk. Many of them take joy in seeing the rich boy knocked down a few pegs. Several of them have told you as much. Whispers follow you wherever you go and speculation haunts you.

At first you tried to tell them all that you were a victim. That she enchanted you, took you in. Somehow she ensnared your mind even though every part of you was fighting it. Your skin crawled every time your bodies made contact, but it was as if your muscles were frozen.

But no one believes you.

Your father even told you there was no need to lie, that it was only natural for a young man to want to get his jollies out before he settled down. An urge to argue filled you, but the words turned to ash in your mouth. You knew you couldn't make him understand, that he'd never really listen to what you were saying.

Even in your own home, it's as if you can't escape her.

Memories of her hovering over the stove cooking your favorite foods, has made everything taste of decay and bitterness. You eat for sustenance only, trying your best to ignore the flavor of bad memories. You choke down food, trying your hardest to ignore the overwhelming feeling of bile rising in your throat. Nothing garners a response other than repulsion.

Strolls through the gardens used to be pleasant, the scent of the flowers wafting through the air. Now the fragrance chokes you, reminding you of the sickeningly sweet smell of her perfume. Even the hint of lavender on the spring breeze leaves you retching and gasping for air.

Children's laughter down on the street makes you shudder, reminding you of the thing that was growing inside of her when you were finally allowed to leave. You try your best to block the memories from your mind, but at times the guilt overwhelms you. You feel yourself being ripped in two by your desire to be a father to your child and your inability to overcome its origins. She has taken the joyous occasion of expecting a firstborn and twisted into something ugly and shameful. Above all else, you hate her for that.

Your body is a battleground, scarred and bloodied by her obsession, haunted by ghosts you'll never escape.

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 _Hi there!_

 _This story was written for the Inspired By The Masterpieces Challenge in which we were to write a story that was inspired by a classic piece of artwork. The one that I chose was Your Body Is A Battleground by Barbara Kruger. The piece of art was inspired by the struggle over women's reproductive rights._

 _For some reason, that inspired me to start thinking about Tom Riddle Sr. and how he basically had his rights taken away. In cannon, he's portrayed as a not very good guy, but we only ever see him through Voldemort's eyes. Really, he was a victim and he was completely robbed of his right to choose in terms of fathering a child. It's pretty tragic if you stop to think about it._

 _I'd love to know what you thought of this, so feel free to leave some feedback in the comment section._

 _Thank you for reading!_

 _~Kaitlin/TreacleTart_


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